


Fooled!

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Crack, Fluff, M/M, Not Really Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Warnings only for fluff, crack, mild tactile massage and mild sexual innuendos*</p><p>Having left the Autobots to be with Vortex, Smokescreen discovers his body after a battle. Is he really dead?</p><p>Written for April Fools Day. And after recalling many funtimes RPing these two!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fooled!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ultharkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/gifts).



Smokescreen crept towards the inert form, hardly daring to look, hardly able to contain the painful thudding in his chest as he realized – oh no it was true – the fallen mech was Vortex. 

Muddy and ruined, his beloved copter lay face down in the iron sludge, arms flung to either side of his head. The one optic visible on his handsome, unmasked face stared ahead unseeing, no longer cognizant of the ruin that lay all around. 

Nor could Vortex hear the cheers in the distance from the triumphant members of Smokescreen’s once faction, as they celebrated the Autobot victory. 

The mud-spattered black body looked intact. Other than a few gouges on the black rotors, which turned idly in the breeze, there was not a mark upon him.

_But he did not move._

Smokescreen’s spark burned agonizingly. Vortex was gone. He would never know again the joy of flying, of battle, of killing or triumph or victory. And he would never again feel Smokescreen’s warm and devoted form in the berth beside him.

“Vortex!” Tears streamed down the Datsun’s cheeks as he knelt down. Clutching his chest, he allowed his sorrow to engulf him. But then, the cheering sounded again and Smokescreen shook the tears away. There would be time for weeping. In the meantime, they must not find the copter.

No - Smokescreen would take him to a special place. There he would bury him, and erect a memorial. Not for Vortex the smelting pit, the ugly metal blob that emerged to be cast aside and melted down again with the rest of the scrap. No – the copter would have a noble resting place. It was what he would have liked.

Tears formed again as Smokescreen concluded that this was what the Combaticons would want also. They would be pleased. Even Swindle.

But first, Smokescreen would clean Vortex’ rotors – slowly and carefully, just as Vortex had always loved him to do. Pulling out a rag, he climbed to straddle the copters’s aft. Bracing himself, he began to wipe in long, firm, but very gentle strokes infused with all his love, his appreciation.

Smokescreen went on wiping, giving each stroke his essence, his all - even as the twin suns sank lower over the battle scarred landscape and the tumult of victory died in the background. It was the very least that he could do. And as he wiped, tears streamed again as he thought of all the hardships they’d been through, the criticisms from his fellow Autobots, the disapproval of his Datsun cousins and, ultimately, the banishment from the Autobot base.

“I would have done it all a thousand times,” he muttered. And leaning down, he planted a kiss on the centre of the rotor hub – just as he had so many, many times.

And then – surely he must be mistaken, for it seemed that Vortex _flinched_ – just ever so slightly. And now Smokescreen was sitting upright again, was that _warmth_ spreading from the copter’s aft over his thighs and up his body. And did his fingers twitch? And that optic flare with just the briefest hint of red?

Surely it was Smokescreen's imagination. But no! Vortex moved again. And then again. And then, a low hum began as the heat grew in strength, radiating and flowing through Smokescreen in waves, coursing straight into his spark. Vortex moved some more, and then began to vibrate under him.

Joy surged through Smokescreen. It was a miracle! Surely an act of Primus; made doubly amazing by the fact that through of all of those painful religious classes at the Praxian Young Mechs Academy,  Smokescreen had hardly paid attention at all.

As the warmth and vibrations continued to blossom like a cloud of hope, Smokescreen stood up and took a step away, filled with wonder, hardly able to believe it – and vowing that he would evermore from this time on be a devotee.

A rumble sounded. It was low at first, but grew rapidly louder as Vortex' vibrations became a bodily shaking.  And even though this could have been alarming, Smokescreen did not find it so; for he saw that Vortex’ mouth was twisted into a crooked smile. The copter was laughing.

Smokescreen clutched his hands to his chest as his doorwings twitched happily. Oh to see the copter not only alive but happy! Vortex went on chuckling; and now his visible optic glowed red, and he moved his head to bring Smokescreen into his visual field.

He spoke. “Had you there didn’t I!” he cawed. “Had you fair and square. Tears eh? Oh hahahaha!” Moving his hands, he rested his head on them, still chortling.

He composed himself a little. “Dunno about that scrap – but the rotor stuff was pretty good. Why’d you stop?”

It wasn’t that Smokescreen was not still overjoyed. His beloved was obviously _fine,_ after all – and quite himself. But this did not stop the Datsun from balling up the rag and throwing it hard at the copter, noting with satisfaction that it was at least mud sodden enough to make a small ‘clang.’

“Hey! What was that for?”

“You'd better get up!” Smokescreen said. “Autobots find you here, you really will be dead and so will I, besides …” crouching down he ran his hand firmly up the nearest rotor - and in a way not nearly so gentle as it had been before.  “After the fright you just gave me, you owe me a lot more than just the feel of your rotors. Pithead!”

“Now move your aft!” he said, taking his hand away and standing up, pleased that a series of shudders - which he knew were not nearly so much to do with amusement as before - ran through the black frame.

The rotors quivered invitingly. “And do it quickly.” Smokescreen said. “Pretend I’m Onslaught. That’s an order!”


End file.
